


Spotlight

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt probably wouldn’t be at the rehearsal at all, except that even if he didn’t simply want to spend the time in the same room as his boyfriend, Kurt would happily give up a quiet afternoon of his week of pre-prom pampering and skin care to watch Blaine perform.</p><p>set during 2x20 (“Prom Queen”), before said prom</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> Note: smut between high school students above the age of consent

Kurt Hummel is a performer. He’s known that as long as he’s known the word itself. He knows how to command attention, on stage and off, and he lives on it. He thrives on it. He doesn’t have to be the center of attention every minute of the day, and he can be enough of a team player not to _need_ to grab the audience’s focus when he is up on stage with others, but he could do it. He could. He was born to do it.

So since performing is in his blood, he recognizes and appreciates consanguinity in others. Rachel Berry undoubtedly has it, and sometimes Kurt’s heart aches in sympathy with her fiery wishes for the spotlight in and out of song because he can see the echo of his own dreams in her face. Mercedes takes over the stage the same way she can command a lunch table, with passion, ease, and a bone-deep sureness that everyone should be listening to her. Even Jesse St. James, as much as Kurt despises him, has both the talent and the drive to be a star in every fiber of his being.

Others, while enjoyable to watch and hear sing, fall short of the bar. Finn, Sam, Tina, even Brittany, who is an unparalleled powerhouse on stage but who is almost a mouse off of it (except for the one week where she was sure she actually _was_ a mouse, and she bounced around squeaking and eating nothing but cheese)... they have talent, and they have joy in what they do, but they are not performers every second of the day like Kurt.

So it is with both pleasure and a little annoyance that Kurt sits in the audience of the McKinley High theater and watches his friends rehearse their numbers for Prom while he pretends to do his history homework. His absolutely perfect ideas for his own number were summarily shot down by Mr. Schue and others, and he frowns at a piece of lint on the knee of his jeans as he listens to a passable rendition of “Dancing Queen” and wonders why Abba is preferable to a medley of some of Broadway’s greatest songs. It isn’t his fault that the students in the school have so little imagination or sense of rhythm that they might have trouble dancing along.

He has decided not to perform at all, and he will go to prom simply as a student. Prom. The idea of it is exciting enough as it is, but that he is going with a _date_ , with _Blaine_ , his _boyfriend_ , is thrilling. He grins to himself giddily just thinking of it. In a way, he is glad not to have to break up the joy of the night with the job of singing, as much as he would love the spotlight. He can just be Kurt, in an amazing outfit, with his amazing boyfriend, and it will be wonderful. When the two of them dance, it will be perfect.

Since he isn’t performing, Kurt probably wouldn’t be at the rehearsal at all, except that somehow Blaine has managed to get himself on the set list, and even if he didn’t simply want to spend the time in the same room as his boyfriend, Kurt would happily give up a quiet afternoon of his week of pre-prom pampering and skin care to watch Blaine perform.

From the second Blaine takes the stage and chats with the band, Kurt’s eyes are drawn to him. Yes, he looks particularly handsome out of his Dalton uniform and in the grey cardigan Kurt had picked out for him, but it’s more than that. There’s a part of Blaine that for good or ill likes to blend in and make himself affably perfect in every environment, and when that manifests on stage... on stage, he takes Kurt’s breath away.

As the music starts and Blaine takes the microphone in his hand, Kurt thinks that he really should be used to watching Blaine perform by now. He certainly doo-wopped behind him for months at Dalton, but that was different. He’d been dazzled, sure, but he’d also had his own part to play. When Blaine sings to him when they’re alone, he is silly and soft, endearingly sweet in a way that Kurt feels that he, himself, is too practiced and self-conscious to mimic. But none of it is the same as being able to sit without distraction and be drawn in by this collected, commanding performer owning the stage from the very first note. He feels the same butterflies in his stomach now as he did the first day they met and Blaine strutted through “Teenage Dream” in front of him. Some part of him thinks he always will.

Without a conscious decision, Kurt leans forward and watches, barely blinking, as Blaine eats up the stage like it is his and can never belong to anyone else. Even Rachel glances up from her seat and smiles as Blaine reaches the chorus. He clearly isn’t holding back because it is a rehearsal, and Kurt cannot look away. Blaine dances and sings, flirts with the audience and caresses the microphone, and even if he weren’t Kurt’s boyfriend, even if Kurt didn’t _know_ him, Kurt would be in love with him. How couldn’t he be? He cannot look away from the light coming out of him, illuminating the theater with his presence. Blaine looks like he was absolutely born to be there. Kurt can’t decide whether he wants to be there with him or just watch him forever.

Soon enough, though, the performance is over, and Blaine leaves the stage with a few words of thanks for those around him. He bounds down the stairs and over to the seat beside Kurt, where he flops with a theatrical sigh. He nudges the history book that rests open and unread on Kurt's lap.

“Did you even watch me?” Blaine asks with an exaggerated pout. Kurt knows that the high of the performance will wear off soon, and he’ll have his normal boyfriend back. It’s both good and bad.

“You were a little pitchy,” Kurt tells him, trying his hardest to hold back his grin. His fingers itch to touch Blaine’s skin, just a little, maybe on the inside of Blaine’s wrist so he can feel his racing pulse. He wonders if it’s faster than his own.

Blaine’s eyes go wide. “I was?”

“Don’t worry,” Kurt says. “The audience at prom are such neanderthals they won’t even notice.”

 _Pitchy_ , Blaine mouths to himself with a frown, and Kurt takes pity on him - and himself - and reaches over to cup Blaine’s cheek. It’s slightly rough beneath his palm at this time of the evening, and he just barely restrains himself from leaning over and rubbing his own cheek against it, just to feel the texture. When he was at Dalton he used to get to feel the differences through the day, but now it’s an even more precious experience.

“You were amazing,” Kurt assures him. He smiles and smooths his thumb over the corner of Blaine’s mouth. “Really.”

Blaine shrugs one shoulder and smiles back. “Thank you.” He bumps Kurt’s knee with his own and leaves it there; Kurt isn’t sure the warmth running up his thigh is bleeding over from Blaine’s leg or is just in reaction to its proximity. “And not pitchy?”

“Not a note.”

Blaine looks back up at the stage where Sam, Puck, and Artie are setting up. “I just want to make sure I’m not the weak link here.”

The first notes of “Friday” fill the room, the boys start jumping, and Kurt shakes his head. “You will _not_ be the weak link.”

Shaking his head at the arch tone, Blaine laughs. “Come on, it’s a fun song.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but when he condescendingly pats Blaine’s leg he leaves his hand on his thigh. Blaine’s hand comes to cover his, and they smile at each other, just a little crinkling of the eyes and a lift of the corners of the mouth. Kurt’s heart skips a beat.

Mercedes slips into the seat in front of Blaine and sits sideways so that she can talk to them. “You are going to rock the gym,” she says to Blaine, and he grins and ducks his head with what Kurt can tell is actual pleasure.

“Thanks. So are you, Miss Jones,” Blaine tells her.

She grins back. “You better believe it. And you’d both better save me a dance.”

Kurt can’t help but smile at her as he nods. He loves her, he does, and if he has to let go of Blaine for a song at prom it totally has to be to dance with her. “We’re going to prom!” he says, dizzy with the thought, and he tries to ignore the pinched look creeping over Blaine’s face. It’s going to be perfect, and Blaine will feel better afterward.

The music stops suddenly, and Santana nearly falls off of the steps laughing as Puck and Sam pick themselves up from the heap they’re in on the floor of the stage.

“Left! You go left at that part!” Puck says to Sam as they struggle to their feet. “And seriously, you are _heavy_ , dude.”

“Not the weak link,” Kurt tells Blaine, and Blaine’s frown is chased away by a choked laugh.

“You guys up for dinner after the boys are done showing off their impressive dance moves?” Mercedes asks.

Kurt knows Blaine likes to hang out with his friends to show he fits into Kurt’s life, but he’s still kind of high from watching Blaine strut around and doesn’t feel like sharing, so he says quickly, “Sorry, we have other plans.”

Blaine glances at him with a question in his eyes, but he’s a good boyfriend and just gives Mercedes an apologetic smile. “Next time.”

They mock Puck for the rest of the number until Tina drags them all up on stage for a bouncing version of R.E.M.’s “Stand,” which Kurt sings at the top of his lungs despite his insistence that he won’t be doing any such thing at the prom itself. Still, dancing next to Blaine and watching the glow in his eyes as they jump around makes the protest unimportant. Blaine is pulling faces and laughing his head off, and Kurt can hardly keep his emotions inside.

He and Blaine peel off from the group in the parking lot, leaving behind the discussions about the best Michael Stipe impersonator in the group (Kurt thinks Finn, with Puck not far behind) and where to eat (Lauren and Mercedes want something other than Breadstix; Santana is threatening violence).

“So what’s going on?” Blaine asks when they reach Kurt’s car. He’s still bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he can hear music in his head, but he’s watching Kurt with concern.

“What do you mean?” Kurt pivots to watch his friends pile into their cars and leave the otherwise deserted and dark parking lot.

“Why didn’t you want to go out to dinner with them?”

Kurt slides his hand down Blaine’s arm from his shoulder to his fingers. The cardigan feels even better on him than it did in the store. He tries to come up with some explanation, some pithy comment, anything to try to deflect the attention from his adoration and excitement and attraction... and then he realizes he doesn’t have to. He steps forward, puts his fingertips on Blaine’s chest, and backs him gently against the car. Then he kisses him, deep and slow and kind of dirty once he gets into it, his tongue in Blaine’s mouth and his hands in Blaine’s hair.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, his voice cracking on the name, and he pulls Kurt in hard against him, his own hands slipping beneath Kurt’s jacket to press against his spine and bring their chests together tightly enough that Kurt’s body moves with every breath Blaine takes.

Kurt sucks at Blaine’s lower lip and then devours his mouth again. He’s lightheaded with the realization that he can. He’s allowed. No, not allowed, he’s _encouraged_ to kiss this incredible, wonderful boy who shines like a star and is his, his, _his_.

“Kurt,” Blaine says again, and Kurt feels a frisson of terror that Blaine is going to try to stop him. “Can we... maybe _inside_ the car? We’re going to get wet.”

When he pulls back, Kurt realizes that it’s starting to rain; the big fat drops are few and far between, but the downpour isn’t going to hold off for long. Kurt laughs breathlessly and fumbles in his bag for his keys. Now that his hands aren’t touching Blaine they feel too light, like they’re not quite attached to the rest of him, and he nearly drops the keys once he finds them. But then he thumbs the unlock button, dumps his bag in the driver’s seat, and follows Blaine through the door onto the back seat.

“Okay, I’m really, _really_ not complaining,” Blaine says, reaching out to take Kurt’s hand, and it’s all Kurt can do to keep from crawling right into his lap, “but I just want to make sure - “

Kurt cuts him off with a sharp shake of the head. “ _Nothing_ is wrong,” he tells him. “You were born to sing, and you are amazing, and you are _mine_ , and I want to _kiss you_.” He swallows nervously, because some part of him still feels like he shouldn’t say that sort of thing, even now.

“Oh.” Blaine laughs, ducking his head a little like he’s embarrassed, but his grin is wide and delighted. He tugs on Kurt’s hand. “Come here, then.”

There’s a side of Kurt that wants to make a snarky comment about the delay, but the rest of him just wants to be touching Blaine, so he bites back the potential retorts and slides across the seat and up against him.

Blaine is warm and apparently very willing, not to mention a seriously great kisser, and if he feels amazing through the cardigan he feels even better when Kurt gets a hand under it and can lay his palm on his stomach, the clenching of muscles beneath Blaine’s shirt driving him half mad with desire and nerves over wanting so much.

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes, and he’s squirming down and pulling Kurt over him so that he winds up flat on the seat with Kurt propped above him, neither of them with enough room for their legs, but Kurt simply cannot care about that when Blaine is solid beneath him.

“It is wrong that I wished I could walk up on stage and do this to you right there?” Kurt asks against the soft, stubbled skin of Blaine’s throat.

“Wrong?” Blaine groans as Kurt finds a spot beneath his ear and sucks eagerly. “No, I don’t think I could possibly call any of this wrong.” He fists his hand in Kurt’s hair but doesn’t pull him away from his neck.

Kurt smiles, giddy with the power of making Blaine’s body react, and he gets his hand back on Blaine’s stomach, this time under his shirt. He shudders, and the hair on his arms stands up at the contact with Blaine’s skin. Blaine is so warm. It’s not the first time Kurt has touched him like this, but it’s still so new and amazing, and he lets Blaine pull him back up for more kisses. There’s an edge of desperation to them, and it takes all of Kurt’s self-control to hold himself together and not to give into the urge to rub his erection against Blaine’s thigh.

“Kurt,” Blaine says again, the hand on Kurt’s back dragging him closer, as if there were much closer to get. The movement overbalances Kurt, and he scrambles not to fall off of the seat. He gets one elbow planted firmly by Blaine’s shoulder, but his other hand scrabbles on the backrest while he tries to sort out his legs and ends up fumbling against Blaine’s jeans.

Blaine makes a choking sound and goes still and stiff beneath him. He grabs Kurt’s wrist, and Kurt’s suddenly aware that the hardness beneath his palm isn’t leg.

“Oh,” Kurt gasps, and he pulls his hand back, though Blaine’s grip doesn’t let him move more than a few inches. “I’m sorry. I didn’t - “

“It’s okay,” Blaine tells him. He’s gasping for air like he’s just run a race, and though his eyes are closed he doesn’t look upset. Not _upset_ , and he’s not pushing Kurt away. The implications of that realization make Kurt close his own eyes for a moment and try to control his breathing.

“Do you - “ Kurt swallows, and the pounding of his heart is louder than the rain pouring down over the car. “Can I - ?” he asks tentatively.

Blaine nods. His hand loosens its hold on Kurt’s wrist and comes to rest on Kurt’s shoulder instead, clutching at the fabric. Kurt leans down and kisses him to calm his own nerves if not Blaine’s and carefully places his hand back over the bulge in Blaine’s jeans. Blaine squeezes his shoulder, and Kurt takes that as permission to move.

Despite the layers of cloth between his hand and Blaine’s erection, it is absolutely the most ridiculously hot thing Kurt has ever experienced. Blaine feels both familiar and foreign beneath his palm, and the knowledge that it is _Blaine_ is the most incredible part. It’s Blaine, and he wants Kurt to touch him. This is so far from Kurt’s usual experiences of people not even wanting him to look at them that it’s like he’s on some other planet. He never, ever wants to leave.

“Is this okay?” he asks. The denim’s friction heats Kurt’s skin as Blaine holds himself as still as a statue apart from his gasping breaths. Kurt feels dizzy, like he’s drunk or standing at the top of a really tall building, like he could burst into a million pieces, like he could fly. He can’t stop moving his hand, and as Blaine fists a hand in Kurt's hair he has to rub harder, feeling the thickness and weight of Blaine trapped in his jeans.

Blaine’s eyes are dark and unfocused when he opens them. “It’s really good,” he says hoarsely, and he smiles like Kurt’s the most amazing thing in the world.

“Good.” Kurt bends over him to find his lips, and Blaine keeps him there, starting to shake as he gives Kurt kiss after deep, needy kiss. His hips shift with Kurt’s hand, and Blaine moans into his mouth.

Then suddenly Blaine’s hand is back around Kurt’s wrist like a vice, not pulling him away but pressing him down hard. “I’m - “ Blaine struggles to say. “Kurt - “

“Shh. It’s okay,” Kurt tells him softly, and they move together for a few more rough strokes before Blaine gasps and shudders. Kurt can feel him pulsing, can feel the heat beneath his hand, and he swallows back his own whimper. He won’t let himself move, no matter how turned on he is. All he wants to do is watch Blaine. He is radiant.

After a minute or so, Blaine opens his eyes again and smiles. It’s dopey, almost sappy. “Come here,” he says and pulls Kurt in. Kurt kisses him, jittery with need but even more desperate to be close to him. He just made his boyfriend come. He just made _Blaine_ come. _He_ did. He feels so amazingly powerful. A part of him also thinks he may be dreaming, but he tells it to shut up.

“Do you - Should I - ?” Blaine shifts a little to press his leg against Kurt’s still very obvious erection, and Kurt swiftly shakes his head. As much as his body aches for release, it isn’t what his heart wants.

“No, I’m good. I’m happy.” Kurt can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out of him. He kisses Blaine again, this time light and swift. “I’m happy.”

“Me, too,” Blaine says, still smiling at him.

After a few more kisses, Kurt can feel his body slowly edging away from the frantic fever of need, and he doesn’t protest too much when Blaine squirms beneath him.

“I’m happy, but I'm also kind of sticky,” Blaine says, and the comic face of disgust he pulls is so adorable Kurt brings Blaine’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles because his heart feels so light it might fly out of his mouth if he tries to speak. Either that or he’s going to make some confession of feelings he doesn’t know if Blaine is ready to hear yet.

“Want me to drive you back to my house to clean up?” Kurt asks when he’s sure he’s got himself under control.

Blaine shakes his head and frees his hand to cup Kurt’s cheek. “Not yet. Right now I want to kiss you some more.”

He pulls Kurt back down, and when their mouths meet Kurt feels like nothing in the world exists but them. They are the center of everything, completely captivated by each other.

Of all of the parts Blaine plays to perfection like the consummate performer he is, Kurt thinks that the sweet boy laughing with him as they discover each other is probably the closest to the real Blaine beneath it all. And it is all his.


End file.
